


Shatter Point

by absentminded_archivist



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absentminded_archivist/pseuds/absentminded_archivist
Summary: Solas awakes in the modern era, in a world devoid of magic, desperate to discover a way to bring down the Veil. Desperate enough to lead a dangerous man to a certain dangerous orb.Ellana, a young half-elven woman, somehow survives an explosion while spying on a secret Templar research facility, where a new friend has escaped strange and terrible experiments. She comes to with a wound on her hand and a memory of a blinding green light.Their search for answers leads them to borrow the same esoteric book on Quantum Fade Theory at the university library. As fate knits their stories together, they find it harder and harder to keep their secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

Ellana flexed her hand, massaging her palm as she tried to banish the insistent throbbing and tingling sensation. The jagged scar was soft and pink already, healing much faster than it should have. She gave her hand a forceful shake before turning her attention back to the text opened on the table before her.

The musty volume likely had not been touched in some time. Studying Quantum Fade Theory had gone out of fashion centuries ago. The author examined the life works of the Tevinter Fade scholar Ignatius Dominican in the late sixteenth age, who had been mocked and derided by his contemporaries his entire career and died in obscurity.

She stared at the proof that filled the page, a labyrinth of numbers and symbols, begging it to assemble into something sensible. A mathematics minor only got her so far, it seemed. And her focus was not at all aided by the green lights that burst beneath her eyelids when she rubbed her eyes. It was getting late. She was only partly aware of the phrase she inscribed in the margin.

 _For fuck’s sake, Ignatius_.

With a sharp sigh, she snapped the book shut. The thud caused a nearby student to jolt in his chair and throw a glare her direction. Closing was in ten minutes, and the book was not permitted to be removed from the library. She slid the tome’s rather unnecessary heft across the counter to the librarian, who returned her student ID in exchange.

Well, not _hers_ , exactly. But Melanie Pickett had better things to do than study in a library, such as pass out drunk in the bar down the street. Ellana tucked the card into her pocket and checked the text messages on her phone, all from Sera.

She scrolled past a series of texts of escalating vulgarity until she was greeted by a photo of Sera’s ass. She shook her head and texted back.

_\--[10:56 pm]_

_I’m on my way now. When did you start caring so much about punctuality? Also when did you get another bee tattoo?_

 

Sera’s response came immediately.

_\--[10:57 pm]_

_Got your attention did it? You better not miss this. Bring the good shit_

 

After ducking into to a liquor store for Sera’s whiskey of choice, Ellana made her way to the dingy pawn shop where Sera had set up her secure network. The front of the store was dark, its neon signs off for the night. She knocked on the glass and saw a figure pass in front of the light coming from the back room.

Dagna opened the door, looking cheerful as ever. From her delighted expression, it might have been a holiday party. “Ellana! Come in,” came her whisper, strained with excitement. She held open the door for Ellana and locked it behind her before leading the way to the back of the store.

Ellana let out a grunt as her hip caught the edge of a table in the crowded space, causing something unseen to topple over and clatter dramatically onto the floor. Her half-elf background gave her only a fraction of the night vision Sera and Dagna enjoyed.

“Oy! Keep down the racket will you?” Sera yelled from the back room.

“You all right?” Dagna piped.

“I’m fine. Sorry,” Ellana replied, not bothering to attempt to right the pile of rubbish and making her way more cautiously.

Sera’s workspace, if it could be called such, was filled with pillows and floor cushions and illuminated by a dazzling quantity of colorful string lights. A number of half-empty cups, bottles and wrappers were scattered about. It seemed that Sera had been holed up for a while. Ellana smiled as she looked down at her old roommate sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of two laptops.

“Hello, Red Jenny,” Ellana said, checking a nearby cup and pouring whiskey in it. “Sorry I’m late.” She held out the drink to Sera, who threw it a distracted look.

“Not yet. And unless you were squeezing up to a massive pair of tits I don’t want to hear your boring excuse,” she said. “I’m finishing my magnus opum.”

Ellana grinned and sat down next to her, reclining on a pile of cushions. “Magnum opus,” she corrected as she took a sip of the whiskey.

“Whatever.”

Connected to each laptop was a glowing device with all manner of flashing lights on it. That her hacktivist friend would fall for a singularly talented engineer was unsurprising. “Your work?” she said to Dagna.

“Just in time for our big night!” she replied. “How are you feeling? After all the...you know. You doing okay?”

“After she put her nose in the wrong business and should’ve got blown up but somehow didn’t?” Sera offered as she continued to tick away on the keyboard.

“You’re one to talk, considering what you’re doing at the moment,” Ellana retorted. Sera gave a dismissive grunt. “I wondered where that t-shirt went,” she added, noticing the familiar band logo peeking out from under Sera’s hoodie.

“Looks better on me. You can’t fill it out.”

Ellana snorted and turned back to Dagna. “With Sera watching my back, it’s been easy enough to lay low. And I have a friend at Val Royeaux PD looking out.”

“Still can’t remember anything?” Dagna asked.

The aftermath she could recall well enough. The searing pain in her head and the excruciating burn on her hand that glowed green. The terror as she scrambled through the crumbling remains of the research facility, fire and smoke at every turn.

She shook her head. “They’re still calling it an accident.” The official story was that the facility was a decommissioned chemical storage warehouse, and the explosion resulted from improper handling of hazardous waste.

Sera blew a raspberry. “Templar propaganda bullshit.”

“And your friend?” Dagna continued.

“He was...shaken. But Cole is safe. I won’t let them get near him,” she finished, half to herself. The thought prompted her to check her phone for messages. Sera gave a discontented sound, eliciting a questioning look from Dagna. “Sera doesn’t care for Cole.”

“You mean Creepy?”

Ellana ignored the comment. Sera found Cole’s nature unsettling, but nevertheless, she’d worked her magic and given him a new identity, a clean slate. Without it, the Templars would have found him by now. Her anxiety prickled at the thought.

“Ha!” Sera suddenly declared, smiling widely as her eyes flicked across the screen. She snatched the cup from Ellana’s hand and held it aloft with a satisfied smirk. “Ladies and gents, I give you...the names of every pusbucket, shitebag and arse-biscuit in the Venatori administration.” She threw back the whiskey and cackled to herself as she pressed a few more keys.

“They’re going to come after you, you know,” Ellana said for what must have been the tenth time.

“They can try, and they can eat my entire arse. Look, we talked about it already. Nothing to worry about.”  She tapped her nail on Dagna’s device, and gave her girlfriend a wink. Dagna beamed, though Ellana thought she caught a flash of trepidation.

Sera stood up and uncapped the whiskey bottle, the same wicked look in her eye that she always had when waiting for a prank to be discovered.

“And now, we’re celebrating.”

 

* * *

 

Solas exhaled slowly, trying to sink his awareness into the stretching sensation in his legs as he pressed them into the floor. Sometimes, while meditating, he could find a moment’s release from his turbulent thoughts, and a memory of how the world once was would surface, sharp and yet hauntingly brief -- an echo of a song whose words he’d long forgotten, a hue of green now lost, the gentle timbre of Wisdom’s voice.

But this morning, he could not. He let his eyes flutter open. The sunlight was reaching through the east-facing window. Another sleepless night spent longing for the Dreaming. On such mornings, he turned to other activities to distract himself from the pangs of futility.

The training dummy stood faceless before him, a blank canvas for his frustrations. He retrieved his staff from the closet. It once aided him in channeling magic, but that purpose was lost. He wondered what insults the Evanuris would devise if they saw him now. Physical confrontation was largely disdained in Elvhenan, relegated to bodyguards or used to entertain in sporting competitions. Though proficient in his youth, and fond of the antipathy his displays of physicality elicited at court, it had been a long time since he had trained in melee combat. Now, it was one of few comforts in this unfamiliar world.

He gave himself to the rhythm of steps and swings until sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Millennia-old bitterness found purchase in every strike until it became a tempest. When finally he cast the staff unceremoniously to the floor, his pulse was beating hot in his ears. Taking a calming breath, he toweled off and turned on the tea kettle.

He detested tea, but it had become a habit since insomnia had started plaguing him. The Veil had thickened, petrified over the millennia while he slept. And now it seemed to repel him. Or, perhaps he imagined that, and the ages had left him even feebler than he wished to believe.

On his walk to the library, he scrolled through news articles on his phone, looking for any updates on the investigation into the explosion. The reputable publications did not challenge the veracity of the government’s statement about the purpose of the facility, nor the circumstances surrounding the unfortunate “accident.” Even the conspiracy blogs he monitored failed to yield anything of interest.

There was, however, breaking news about an anonymous source claiming to be a Friend of Red Jenny releasing the names of alleged senior members of the Venatori. The list included a number of public figures in Tevinter and Orlais, most of whom were responding with cries of slander, though it seemed a notable exception chose to embrace the newfound infamy.

Solas had run into the Venatori before, in his more unsavory ventures. They cultivated an air of mystery around their organization, but they were no more than glorified mobsters. It was concerning, however, that their membership was growing so rapidly. It seemed that their radically nationalist sentiments had a greater foothold than he would have guessed. He shoved his phone back in his pocket as he pushed open the door to the library.

It was nearly deserted inside, though that was to be expected of a Satuday morning. He handed his ID to the librarian. “I have a volume on hold.”

The librarian found the book in the rack and gave it to him. “Please return it to the desk when you’ve finished,” she said automatically.

He took it to an empty reading room and settled himself at a desk in the corner. Pushing down a fresh wave of futility, he began flipping through the pages. It felt almost debasing, scouring the fumbling analyses of the Veil that this century had produced, searching for some errant insight to its current state. He’d barely understood the magic he himself used to forge the Veil before he’d condemned the world to its fate.

The little he’d gleaned from the physicists and other experts of this age had not been encouraging. When he awoke from his long slumber, he’d known before even opening his eyes that magic had vanished from the world. That there would be unpredictable consequences to the Veil’s existence, he had foreseen. But a world completely and utterly severed from the Fade? It had never seemed possible.

His attempt at unlocking his orb had ended more disastrously than he had imagined, too. Yet more ruinous failures were thus added to his ledger. And if there were remnants of the orb to be salvaged from the debris, they were now in the hands of the Templars.

Solas paused at the handwritten note in the margin of the next page. _For fuck’s sake, Ignatius_ , it read in thick strokes of black ink. He shook his head at the compulsive irreverence that seemed to pervade this age and turned his attention to the proof.

He’d seen pieces of it before in other texts. Seeing it in its entirety did little to elucidate its implications. His own approach towards studying magic and the Fade had been more artistic in nature than mathematical. Granted, that approach had been taken in a world where spirits were as common as pigeons in Orlais, and magic as innate as breathing.

Hours passed as he jotted notes in his leather journal. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was from an unknown number, but he had been waiting for the message for days. It was his contact’s practice to use randomized phone numbers to conduct business.

 

_\--[11:34 am]_

_Payment received. I have what you asked for. Text when you’re on a secure network._

 

Though he was relieved, he could not help but reply.

 

_\--[11:35 am]_

_Three days late. I was beginning to doubt._

 

_\--[11:35 am]_

_I’ve been busy._

 

_\--[11:36 am]_

_So it seems. I will let you know when I am ready._

 

He could not fathom how this Friend of Red Jenny obtained records of elven artifacts currently in the possession of the Templar Bureau, but he felt his spirits rise. He returned the book and texted Varric on the way out.

 

_\--[11:45 am]_

_Something has come up. I won’t be able to attend your dinner tonight. My apologies._

 

\-- _[11:50 am] Varric Tethras_

_If you’re being all mysterious and hard-to-get to try and seduce me, I’m sorry to say you’re not my type._

 

_\--[11:51 am]_

_A pity. Give my regards your fans._

 

_\--[11:51 am] Varric Tethras_

_Friends, Chuckles. Friends. You know, like the people you make and cancel plans with?_

_Don’t worry. You’ll find a way to make it up to me._

 

_\--[11:53 am]_

_I will endeavor to do so. Enjoy your evening._

 

_\--[11:54 am] Varric Tethras_

_Same to you._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ellana should probably tone down the trespassing.

Cassandra walked down the hall to her office, her eyes lingering on a sentence in the report. _Fourteen skulls of various sizes found arranged on bookshelf_. Arranged on a bookshelf like so many trinkets. Impossible as it seemed, dental records matched one of the skulls to a woman who had been missing for little more than a month—one that Cassandra had devoted many sleepless nights to finding. Evidence pointed to Venatori involvement. She wondered how many other missing persons cases were about to be closed.

The alleged leaders exposed by the most recent Friends of Red Jenny hack were virtually untouchable. At least by legal means, she thought bitterly. She’d had to play host to entitled Templar agents for weeks since the warehouse explosion, and her patience was wearing thin. She grit her teeth and pushed down the feeling of helplessness as she opened the door to her office.

In the beat that it took for her to register the woman seated in her desk chair, Cassandra’s hand flew to her gun holster.

“Commissioner,” Ellana Trevelyan greeted. Her hands were folded casually on her lap.

The surge of adrenaline stoked Cassandra’s temper. She swiftly shut the door and stalked over to her unwelcome visitor.

“How did you get in here?” she hissed.

“You always ask me that question but you never like the answer,” Ellana said with maddening calm.  
  
“I told you to stay away. You are a _fugitive_!”

“Not officially. Besides, it was an ‘accident’, wasn’t it?” Her tone had the tang of accusation. Cassandra leveled a glare at her.

“The feds have taken over the investigation. And they have made the lines very clear.”

Ellana’s gaze wandered to the portrait of Cassandra’s father hanging on the wall, a photo of him in uniform. After a moment, her expression settled into something wearier. Cassandra was unused to this new grave demeanor Ellana had taken on, and she wasn’t certain she preferred it to the younger woman’s often reckless idealism.

Ellana stood, reaching into her pocket and tossing Cassandra a thumb drive.

“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. Does the name Gereon Alexius mean anything to you?”

“It sounds familiar,” she said, searching her memory for why. “He’s a venture capitalist, isn’t he?”

Ellana nodded, walking around the desk and leaning on its edge. “Among other things. He’s the money behind a biomedical foundation for researching rare diseases.”

That was where she had heard of him before. He had made a security request for his foundation’s annual gala, which was being held in Val Royeaux next month.

“In his younger years, he was a principal investigator at University of Minrathous,” Ellana continued. “As it turns out, his foundation has been quietly collaborating with the Templar Bureau’s research division.”

Cassandra looked down at the nondescript drive. When Ellana first came to her with theories about the Templars kidnapping people for heinous experiments, Cassandra had thought her creatively paranoid. It was for their friendship’s sake that she overlooked Ellana’s questionable methods of investigating her suspicions. She had entertained the conspiracy theories, but they had only led to dead ends. That is, until they found Cole—an unsolved case come back to haunt her.

Before the explosion, Ellana had compiled hundreds of documents from satellite photos to energy usage records that left little doubt that the facility Cole claimed to have escaped from was hardly an abandoned warehouse. And then one early morning, after her initial probing, Cassandra had come in to her office to find it in complete disarray. Filing cabinets overturned and emptied, computer gone, even floorboards pried apart. It was only by chance that they had found nothing. The threats of the Templar agent who paid her a visit later that day were subtle, but his message gave no room for interpretation.

She had a feeling that the contents of this flash drive might lead to a similar result.

“A number of elven artifacts were auctioned at a private event year ago. Nearly all but a few pieces of pottery were purchased by a single anonymous individual. One of these artifacts matches Cole’s description of the relic he saw in the research facility.” Ellana folded her arms, waiting for Cassandra to produce the conclusion.

“So you’re telling me that this Alexius is the anonymous buyer, and that he handed the artifacts over to the Templars? For what purpose?”

Ellana flexed her hand with a wince, giving it an annoyed look before continuing. “I suppose that is the question.”

“Maker, Ellana. What have you gotten yourself into?” Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, the fluorescent lights suddenly giving her a headache. “How did you come by this information?” She didn’t know why she still bothered to ask.

“You never like the answer to that question, either.”

Cassandra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You have not given me much. Especially considering that you are asking me to put my career at stake. Again.”

“Have a look for yourself,” Ellana said with a nod to the tiny and yet so very dangerous device in her hand. “If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you a drink.” She gave Cassandra a wink. Cassadra let out a disgusted noise.

The phone on her desk rang. She pocketed the drive and went to answer it. “I will consider it. In the event that this does not lead to an ill-fated wild goose chase, I will contact you. Until then, please refrain from breaking into my office.”

“That’s not exactly what I did,” Ellana murmured with a small grin before walking out the door.

 

* * *

 

Solas folded his shirtsleeves and uncapped his pen. Last night’s review of the documents Red Jenny delivered had lifted his spirits. He could hardly lament his lack of sleep when the night had been so productive.

He found the page in the textbook where he’d left off, pausing with surprise and some annoyance at the fresh assortment of markings in the margins. He was certain they had not been there the day before. Which meant that there was another person at the university who was currently digging into archaic and purportedly disproven theories on the Veil.

The text was rare, but not in a valuable way. Rare because it was considered irrelevant. Though contemporary academics still studied the topic in a sense, even the terms “Fade” and “Veil” were no longer commonly used. The modern literature conceptualized the Veil not as a created thing but as an immutable property of the universe. Unsurprising, given the Chantry underpinnings of this culture.

Dominican was the last scientist to have hypothesized that the Veil showed evidence of being created by a historical being. He pointed out weaknesses and inconsistencies in its structure, and conducted experiments to measure discrepancies in its effects between several geographical locations. That he’d discovered areas where the Veil was thinner in its ossified state was remarkable. But a large share of his work on the subject was now lost, or in fragments cited in niche textbooks, where it was subject to defacement by a frustrated reader who did not dot his or her i’s. Likely “her,” he guessed by the roundness of letters.

Based on her abandoned equations, it seemed she was having trouble with a portion of the third line of the proof. He spotted her wrong turn—a simple error.

It would be better to let it go. There was much he needed to accomplish this morning, and in the weeks to come.

And yet.

He deftly tore a blank page from his notebook and began jotting down the solution. Soon, he had his ruler out to draw a graph for reference. Once he was satisfied with the result, he wrote out the explanation. He paused, reading it over. After a moment of consideration, he added a final note.

It seems you do not lack sufficient passion, but perhaps your study of Dominican’s theories would better flourish beyond the margins.

When he concluded his own analysis, he tucked his paper between the pages and shut the book. It felt gratifying to share knowledge, even with an anonymous recipient. It had been some time since he’d had the opportunity. It had, in fact, very nearly put him in a pleasant mood. He smiled as he handed the text over to the librarian and left.


End file.
